


A Horrid Reverie

by Keitmeg



Series: WinchestLove [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Between Seasons/Series, Brotherly Affection, Caring Dean Winchester, Castiel is a Good Friend, Daydreaming, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, I Don't Even Know, Lucifer in the Cage, Lucifer is Lucifer, Lucifer is a Little Shit, M/M, No Spoilers, Sam Hallucinates, Sam Is Scarred For Life, Sam Winchester Speaks Enochian, Samifer - Freeform, Think of it as Wincest or not, Unrequited Love, works both ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:06:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9935951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keitmeg/pseuds/Keitmeg
Summary: Dean, Sam and Castiel are working a case. Inside the bunker, Sam is giving information when he suddenly sees a memory from The Cage. Dean is curious to know what Sam saw but maybe somethings are better left unsaid.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place whenever you want. I mean after Mark and the bunker were introduced into the show that is.  
> Don't forget to leave kudos if you liked this.  
> I literally wrote this at 4 AM when the idea suddenly came to me, I hope I'm not the only one who sees things like this.

 

 

 

 

 

 **T** heir case board in the war room which has many demon photos mounted on is the telltale of the hunt that’s been going for a while. Laptops and case files open on the illuminated map of the world.

They’ve been investigating an active lair of demons just at the skirts of town but they didn’t want to go in there prompted by mere rumors, they’ve been keeping the area on tight watch, just revving up for the moment those demons make their move.

 

Dean walks into the war room after having excused himself to ‘fetch some grub’ and more beer, a tray in a hand and, just as he promised, more beer in the other. He places everything on the table between his and Sam’s seat, and Sam pecks out the sandwich, screws up his eyes and peers at it as though the lettuce leaf wold wiggle its way out if he looks away.

“It’s a sandwich.” Dean grumbles around the neck of his beer, “it doesn’t bite you, you bite it.”

Sam gives a thin smile before he takes a bite of the bread, finding it quite tasty after a few chews.

“Hein, Whatdya think Sammy?” Dean inquires, and when Sam nods approvingly, Dean gives an impish smirk and slaps the air lazily, “Man I’m so good at this.”

“Anyhow,” Castiel props from the side, shoulders hunched and eyes blue but vapid, typical Castiel. “Sam, what has your research showed?”

Sam hums and takes a reckless swig of his beer, lifts his index to let them know that he, indeed, does have something about this demon case. He places the burger back on the plate along with his beer, dusts off his hand and walks up to the board.

“Apparently,” he starts, “some guy named Richard Alvin who lived in Topeka, died two months ago, car crush looks like.” He gives a cocky smirk that makes his eyes glint under the light. “Guess who came back to life and lives in our backyard.”

Dean drops his sandwich and leans forward on the table, recognition downing on him.

“You have a backyard?” Castiel wonders loudly, eyes narrowing with evident confusion.

The other two ignore him. It’s better that way.

“So, Richard,” Dean lifts up a hand, as though that could help him process the situation better, “inhales the black fart, gets possessed and then dragged to Lebanon, KS why?”

“What about the other two,” Castiel cocks his head, “the two women with him?” he elaborates.

Sam mutters ‘coming to that’ before he faces the board, a hand on one of the murky photos of the female alleged demon. But then, like the shiver you least expect, it comes back to him.

A flash of Lucifer wearing Nick’s skin assaults his vision.

 

Humid air infiltrates his nostrils, Sam feels the metal against his body and he hears the meat hooks jingle like an eerie choral. And then Lucifer is in his eyesight, daunting as ever, cynical as ever. He approaches Sam who backs away, his warning alarms going off; willing him to turn and leave although he knows there is no escape from The Cage.

“Stay away from me.” He bites out, breathily.

Lucifer pouts on a poorly intent smirk, “Sam,” he intones, “You hurt my feelings.”

Sam gulps but he finds his throat too dry to allow him the movement, “no” he bellows, shaking his head tentatively, “don’t.”

“Come on, Sam.” Lucifer whines, now striding forward into Sam’s space without a warning.

Sam’s breath hitches and he finally realizes he can’t move because he’s too scared to.

Lucifer brings a hand to Sam’s shoulder, glides it so disgustingly slow to the hollow of his neck. “You know,” he starts, eyes following his hand, “I’ve been thinking on playing another game, something that involves your face on the floor and me fucking you senseless, but _you_ … being like _this_... it really…” –he looks up at last, grappling for the word to shake Sam to the core–  “grates on my nerves.”

Sam’s eyelids flutter and his tears are soon rolling down his cheeks in a torrent.

“Oh, _Sam_.” Lucifer stops his hand and brings it to Sam’s cheek, cupping it gently to allude to his care towards the young hunter, “don’t be like that.”

“Fuck me senseless?” Sam snorts and puffs out his chest, cheeks stung with dried tears, “don’t you fucking dare touch me so readily.”

The apologetic look on Lucifer’s face morphs into a predatory one, “Now that’s more like it.”

 

“Sam!” Dean’s disembodied voice floats into Sam’s ears. “Sammy, what’s wrong? Come on, little brother, snap out of it.”

Sam jolts up as though woken up from a dream, and he finds that he’s been leaning into Dean with Castiel standing by their side. He fixates on them with red-rimmed eyes and ashen face.

“You okay?” Dean asks with urgency and worry in his voice, his breath fanning on Sam’s cheek.

Sam casts his eyes down and finds that his knees have buckled at some point and if Dean hasn’t been there to support him, he’d have been making out with the floor by now.

“Sam!” Dean’s voice again, it’s growing impatient now as his brother eyes his surroundings with keen eyes, like he is comparing it to something.

Sam tries to support his own weight but he fails and ends up leaning more into his brother, making a small whimper and giving and involuntary shudder. “I… I can’t…” he voices out, panic growing in his voice.

Dean tightens his grip around Sam’s middle, giving him more room to clutch at his upper arms, which he’s been doing ever since he wobbled and almost fell had it not been for Dean’s tactfulness.

Sam was talking when he suddenly just stopped mid-sentence, his back to his brother and Castiel, and his hand still on the board.

Dean had given Castiel the brow-arch before he called out to Sam, and he even tried the ‘earth to Sam, do you copy’ but Sam seemed to be unresponsive, until he started to speak, but it really wasn’t something Dean understood. He had had a few chances to hear other angels speak something in the line like the things Sam said, so he knew they were dealing with something much worse than the ordinary daydreams that steal his brother’s attention now and then, and man, those aren’t even as bad.

“I’ve got you.” Voice stern and face stoic, Dean assures warmly and he lets a hand roam Sam’s broad back, kneading in consolation. “I’ve got you, little brother.”

Sam shakes his head weakly, too much emotions surging still, too much touching, Sam wrenches himself from Dean’s hold and drops on one the nearby chairs. “I’m,” he licks his thin lips and scrubs a hand on his weary face, “I’m fine.”

Dean furrows, “yeah,” he scoffs humorlessly, “you keep telling yourself that.”

Sam glares up wordlessly at his brother with bleary eyes and Dean immediately regrets his words.

“Look, Sam.” He crouches, tries to appease to his little brother so he wouldn’t reject him again, “You had me so fucking worried. It’s like… back then…”

Sam flinches at the memory of his hallucinations.

Dean curses inwardly and glowers at the laminated floor, searching for his next words and trying to be as considerate as he can, giving the circumstances. “Fuck, man, you scared the shit out of me, okay?”

Sam’s face relents and he quickly tucks his hair behind his ear, “I’m sorry.”

Dean deflates in on himself, “you don’t have to be,” he clears his throat and places a hand on Sam’s cheek, and he instantly feels his brother shrinking away from it. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

Sam closes his eyes and lets out a weary sigh, “Dean, I said I was fine, why do you have to poke into it.”

“You saw something, didn’t you?” Dean’s knowing tone deadpans, “you wanna talk about it?”

“No, Dean.” Sam whines, throwing hands in the air in protest. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Alright, man, I get it.” Dean lifts pacifying hands, quirks a broad smile. “But you sure you’re okay?”

Sam dips his chin for a second; he shakes his head and finally looks Dean in the eyes. “I’m tired.” He admits, “My head hurts and I just wanna lie down.”

Dean snakes his tongue to bite on it before he nods, “Okay” he agrees, “okay, we’ll finish up here, we can do this another time, no need to rush.” He fixes Sam’s hair, tucking those lost strands behind his ears, fastidious in his action. “Get some shuteye and I’ll wake you up at dinner, how’s that?”

Sam nods jerkily, and much to his surprise, he finds that he is leaning into Dean’s hand, making the man palm his cheek again. And Sam doesn’t really mind letting Castiel in on the gestures of love he and Dean can’t have unless it was just the two of them in the room.

“Alright, up you go then.” Dean coaxes, helping Sam up. “Want me to tuck you in?” he jokes.

Sam rolls his eyes and gives a tiny smile but his beautiful dimples still deepen, “jerk.”

 

“Enochian?” Dean echoes, only, his tone is more enraged than Castiel’s guttural, matter-of-factly voice.

Castiel nods.

“W-why?” Dean is perched on the map table, hands wrapped across his chest, “I mean if it was Latin I’d understand, but Enochian?”

Castiel is sitting on his earlier chair in the war room, fingers twined before his chest. “Dean, your brother was in the cage with Lucifer and Michel for over a hundred years,” he reasons, “although I absorbed most of the damage, the things he picked up from there are engraved into his brain, language is part of it, I could not change it.”

Dean gives himself a moment to let the input sink in before he speaks again, “so,” he finds that a part of him doesn’t want to ask, but really, have you met us, humans?  We could never learn from the curious cat. “What was he saying, I mean when he” –he beckons at his own temple– “you know.”

Castiel crinkles his brows so deeply that it mars his entire forehead, “Dean” he breathes out, “it’s not something I should tell you if Sam himself didn’t want to talk about.” He admits, “Besides, Sam said he was fine.”

Dean hardens his glare, “man, put your feathery ass in my shoes, what would you do, wouldn’t you want to know, to see if your brother is fine like he says he is which I know is bull, you saw him, Cas, that looked fine to you?”

Castiel, although still defiant, he eventually acquiesces and tells Dean everything.

 

Standing by the doorframe of the dimly-lit room of Sam, Dean chews on his bottom lip meditatively before he rolls his chin.

Sam saw Lucifer.

Dean’s heart clenches and his stomach churns.

Sam fucking saw _Lucifer_ , biggest monster ever hatched, and by the looks of it, Lucifer wasn’t playing chess with him.  

Dean rakes a hand through his spiky hair, he really doesn’t know how to broach this subject with Sam, or if they even need to bring it up altogether. Sam looked devastated and scared for a while, even disoriented after he woke up from his... reverie…whatever, now he wonders if it’s such a good plan to make Sam dredge up all that again.

Slight rustling comes from the room and Dean finally walks in, he eyes the sleeping form of his little brother: a heap of lanky limbs under the blanket, the peaceful face cascaded by smooth strands of hair. Dean isn’t sure he wants to wake Sam from whatever he’s dreaming about right now because it looks pleasant. But Sam has to eat and Dean promised he’d wake him up, Besides, Dean wants Sam awake right now, talking, hazel eyes on his.

“Sam?” Dean sports a gentle tone, “wakey wakey, Sammy.”  

Sam shuffles and lets out a small groan which makes Dean chuckle.

“Nap time’s over, Sam.” Dean crouches on his haunches, allows his hand to comb Sam’s hair, “I’m pretty bored here.”

Sam’s lids flutter and soon they’re parting, hazel eyes shimmer under the faint light of the lamp. Upon seeing Dean’s face hovering over his, Sam gives a dopey smile.

“Good dream?” Dean wonders, yet making no effort to retrieve his hand.

Making no effort to swipe Dean’s hand away either, Sam nods, “oh yeah.”


End file.
